


i name me, i make me, i live me

by OnyxSphinx



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Emotions About Names is the name of this game, Trans Hermann Gottlieb, Trans Newton Geiszler, idiots. they're the best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23424184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: “Newton?” Hermann shouts, “of all things—you choseNewton?”“Hey!” Newt yells back, “you choseHermann, man, I think Newton’s probably a better choice, here!”“It isnot,” Hermann half-shrieks; face going beet red, like, the painful purple kind that makes Newt wonder if he’s going to beokay. “You—you—you rat-bastard!”Newt lets out a startled burst of laughter; the sound lost in the cacophony around them. “Oh my god,” he wheezes; and knows Hermann probably can’thearit, “fucking—oh mygod.”
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 1
Kudos: 67





	i name me, i make me, i live me

“Natascha?”

“Newt,” he corrects; trying to make sure his voice doesn’t fucking _shake_. It’s the first time he’s actually said it out _loud_ , discounting the times he’s whispered it to himself late at night, over and over like a mantra to keep him _sane._

His partner raises a brow. “You sure?” he asks; kneeling down to grab one of boxes with the sets of slides and dyes from beneath their counter.

Newt rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he snaps. “Pass me the blue, will you?”

The other does without comment; but Newt can feel the heaviness of his gaze; sees the unspoken question on his tongue.

 _God_ , he thinks; and then shakes himself; might as well get used to it.

He does get used to it; kind of—it doesn’t stop stinging, but it dulls to a throb he can live with without flinching. Jacob and Illia are chill about it, thank god; he’s not sure what he would have done if they _hadn’t_ been—he really values his relationship with them, and he thinks he might not have been able to really deal if they hadn’t been chill with it.

Mostly things are chill; he doesn’t exactly have a huge circle of friends or anything—sure, he’s got the Rabbits, but, come on, they wear animal masks, it’s not like it really affects their performances. Besides that, he’s really focused on the academic aspect of things—PhD numero cuatro, fuckers; he’s a goddamn _rockstar._

Kind of. Whatever.

‘Course, then ‘13 comes along and like, fucks things up in _general_ , and Newt doesn’t really have the time to think about much else besides, like, studying the kaiju, holy _shit_ , actual _aliens_ , man, how cool is _that?_

It’s the kaiju that lead him to Gottlieb; and he says _Gottlieb_ because the dude’s personal information is like, _nowhere_ to be found—he’s read a few of Gottlieb’s papers, but they’re always credited to _H. Gottlieb, PhD_ (smart! Newt likes it) and so it’s like…kind of up in the air.

Until Gottlieb sends him a photo, anyway; and, like, it doesn’t exactly _clear things up_ or anything, but the dude’s wearing what Newt is pretty sure is a sweater-vest (oh my god, thinks Newt, _cute!_ ) and looks _pretty_ masculine so Newt decides to go with a tentative _he_ until later notice. 

Like, technically he could _ask_ , but, jesus, they’re writing _physical letters_ —how awkward would _that_ be?

Very. The answer here is _very_.

Four(-ish) years later, Newt rolls up—well, walks up, whatever, technicalities, man—to a table in a cafe in Berlin and sticks his hand out to one Doctor H. Gottlieb and chirps, “Hey! ‘S nice to like, finally meet you, dude—I’m Newton Geiszler. Newt!”

Gottlieb scowls at him; Newt suspects that’s Gottlieb’s _general_ expression. “Newton,” he says, stiffly, and takes his hand. “I’m, Herm— _Hermann_.”

The sound catches partway through; and he scowls harder, as if frustrated with it. Newt gives a sympathetic hum. “Don’t worry, man,” he advises, “‘s chill—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” snaps Hermann, “try and _placate_ me.”

Newt raises his palms. “Alright, alright, sorry, dude—just trying to, like, offer some reassurance—”

It kind of goes downhill from there.

Hermann has a world of things to say about him: his hair, his tattoos, his, quote, “painful inability to choose one single specialisation” to which Newt says, _um, which one of us has six PhDs? Yeah, no, fuck off_ —and Newt then has plenty to say about _Hermann_ , mostly out of hurt—he doesn’t _mean_ most of what he says, not really, but, well. 

Once things are said they can’t exactly be _unsaid_ especially when they’re working a literal ocean apart.

Aaaaaaand then they’re _not_ working an ocean apart, they’re working, like, ten feet apart, and. That’s. Maybe a little awkward. 

Newt’s not, like, exactly _good_ at talking about, like, _anything_ , though, so mostly he just drops hints and retreats back over the line when Hermann doesn’t pick them up and needles the other and teases him because sue him, Hermann is pretty cute when he gets riled up (about other things, like Newt hiding his chalk, not about— _that_ , Newt wouldn’t tease him about _that_. That’s a dick move).

Anyway, that’s _probably_ why they’re having this talk _now_ , in a helicopter, shouting it to each other to be heard over the sound of the wind whipping around them and the sound of the helicopter blades over them.

“ _Newton?_ ” Hermann shouts, “of all things—you chose _Newton?_ ”

“Hey!” Newt yells back, “you chose _Hermann_ , man, I think Newton’s probably a better choice, here!”

“It is _not_ ,” Hermann half-shrieks; face going beet red, like, the painful purple kind that makes Newt wonder if he’s going to be _okay_. “You—you—you rat-bastard!”

Newt lets out a startled burst of laughter; the sound lost in the cacophony around them. “Oh my god,” he wheezes; and knows Hermann probably can’t _hear_ it, “fucking—oh my _god._ ”

Hermann scowls at him; hands twitching around the shaft of his cane where he holds it across his lap, sitting across from Newt. “Shut up,” he says, or Newt assumes he does, anyway—he’s mostly going off of his not-so-great lip-reading here.

“Still can’t believe you went with _Hermann_ ,” Newt tells him; a few hours later, after they close the Breach; leaning against Hermann. They’ve fucked of to the lab, where they can get some peace and _quiet_ , which the LOCCENT sort isn’t, you know, _great_ for right now. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I _like_ it, it’s a great name, but—god, you _dork_.”

Hermann scowls at him. “I still can’t believe _you_ went with _Newton_ ,” he says, and then tacks on, in his worst impersonation of Newt, “call me _Newt_ , dude!”

Newt laughs. “Oh, shut up,” he grumbles; but it’s without any bite to it. “And anyway, I _like_ my name.”

A hint of a smile creeps up across Hermann’s face, and he lets his head fall forward; presses a soft kiss to the top of Newt’s head. “As do I,” he says. “Newton. _My_ Newton.”

“Shut up,” Newt says; but he’s grinning now. “In that case, that makes you _my_ Hermann.”

“Mm,” Hermann hums; and kisses him again, “it rather does, doesn’t it?”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
